We now proceed to consider some representative passages of Shakespeare
which deal with music.
These may be taken roughly in six divisions--viz. (1) Technical Terms
and Instruments, (2) Musical Education, (3) Songs and Singing, (4)
Serenades and other domestic 'Music,' (5) Dances and Dancing, (6)
Miscellaneous, including Shakespeare's account of the more spiritual
side of music.
To begin on the first division. There are many most interesting
passages which bristle with technical words; and these are liable to
be understood by the reader in a merely general way, with the result
that the point is wholly or partly missed. With a reasonable amount of
explanation, and a general caution to the student not to pass over
words or phrases that appear obscure, there is no reason why these
passages should not be understood by all in a much fuller light.
The following lines, though not in a play, are so full of musical
similes that it may be useful to take them at once.
_Lucrece_, line 1124.
"My _restless discord_ loves no _stops_ nor _rests_;
A woful hostess brooks not merry guests.
Relish your _nimble notes_ to pleasing ears;
Distress like _dumps_, when _time is kept_ with tears."
(Then to the nightingale)--
"Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair:
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad _strain_ will _strain_ a tear,
And with deep groans the _diapason_ bear;
For _burden_ wise I'll _hum_ on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus _descant'st_ better skill.
And while against a thorn thou _bear'st thy part_,
To keep thy sharp woes waking....
These means, as _frets_ upon an _instrument_,
Shall _tune_ our heart-_strings_ to true languishment."
Here Lucrece tells the birds to cease their joyous notes, and calls on
the nightingale to sing the song of Tereus, while she herself bears
the 'burden' with her groans.
The first line contains a quibble on 'rests' and 'restless' discord.
'Nimble notes' was used in the Shakespearian time as we should use the
term 'brilliant music.' Lucrece was in no humour for trills and runs,
but rather for Dumps, where she could keep slow time with her tears.
The Dumpe (from Swedish Dialect, _dumpa_, to dance awkwardly) was a
slow, mournful dance. [See Appendix.] There is another quibble in l.
1131, on _strain_. A 'strain' is the proper Elizabethan word for a
formal phrase of a musical composition. For instance, in a Pavan,
Morley (Introduction to Practical Music, 1597) says a 'straine' should
consist of 8, 12, or 16 semibreves (we should say 'bars' instead of
'semibreves') 'as they list, yet fewer then eight I have not seene in
any pauan.'
'Diapason' meant the interval of an octave. Here Lucrece says she will
'bear the diapason' with deep groans, _i.e._, 'hum' a 'burden' or
drone an octave lower than the nightingale's 'descant.' The earliest
'burden' known is that in the ancient Round 'Sumer is icumen in,' of
the 13th century. Here four voices sing the real music in canon to
these words--
'Sumer is icumen in, Lhudè sing Cuccu,
Groweth seed and bloweth mead and springth the wdè nu,
Sing Cuccu,
Awè bleteth after lomb, lhouth after calvè cu,
Bulluc sterteth, Buckè verteth, murie sing cuccu,
Cuccu, Cuccu,
Wel singès thu cuccu, ne swik thu naver nu.'--
while all the time two other voices of lower pitch sing a monotonous
refrain, 'Sing cuccu nu, Sing cuccu,' which they repeat _ad infinitum_
till the four who sing the Round are tired. This refrain is called Pes
(or 'foot'), and this is the kind of thing which Lucrece means by
'burden.' The word 'hum' may be considered technical, see the
Introduction, where '_buzzing_ bass' is referred to. The tune, 'Light
o' love' [see Appendix], as we know from _Much Ado_ III, iv, 41, used
to go _without_ a burden, and was considered a 'light' tune on that
account, see _Two Gent._ I, ii, 80.
'Descant,' in l. 1134, wants explaining. To 'descant' meant to sing or
play an _extempore_ second 'part' to a written melody. The point was
that it should be extempore; if written down it ceased to be true
descant, and was then called 'prick-song.' A rough example may be had
in the extempore bass or alto which some people still sing in church
instead of the melody. A more accurate example of descant would be
this--let A sing a hymn tune, say the Old 100th, and let B accompany
him _extempore_ with a separate melody within the bounds of harmony. B
is 'descanting' on the melody that A sings.[5]
[Footnote 5: Appendix, Ex. 1.]
The art of descant in Elizabeth's time corresponded closely with what
we call 'Strict Counterpoint' (_contra_, _punctus_, hence
'prick-song,' or 'written' descant).
The modern equivalent for 'bear a part' (l. 1135) is 'sing a part.'
[See also Sonnet VIII.] Any person of decent education could 'bear a
part' in those days, _i.e._, read at sight the treble, alto, tenor, or
bass 'part' of the work presented by the host for the diversion of his
guests. [See Introduction.]
L. 1140. 'Frets upon an instrument' can still be seen on the modern
mandoline, guitar, and banjo. In Shakespeare days, the viol, lute, and
cittern all had frets on the fingerboard, but they were then simply
bits of string tied round at the right places for the fingers, and
made fast with glue. Their use is referred to in the next line, to
'tune' the strings, _i.e._, to 'stop' the string accurately at each
semitone.
There is a quaint illustration of ll. 1135-6, about the nightingale
singing 'against a thorn' to keep her awake, in the words of a
favourite old part song of King Henry VIII., 'By a bank as I lay,'
where the poem has these lines on the nightingale--
'She syngeth in the thyke; and under her brest
A pricke, to kepe hur fro sleepe.'
In close connection with this is the conversation between Julia and
her maid Lucetta, in _Two Gent._ I, ii, 76-93, about the letter from
Proteus.
_Jul._ Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
_Luc._ That I might _sing_ it, madam, to a _tune_:
_Give me a note_: your ladyship can _set_.
_Jul._ As little by such toys as may be possible:
Best sing it to the tune of "Light o' love."
_Luc._ It is too heavy for so _light_ a tune.
_Jul._ _Heavy?_ belike, it hath some _burden_ then.
_Luc._ Ay, and melodious were it, would you sing it.
_Jul._ And why not you?
_Luc._ I cannot _reach so high_.
_Jul._ Let's see your song.--How now, minion!
_Luc._ _Keep tune_ there still, so you will _sing it out_;
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
_Jul._ You do not?
_Luc._ No, madam, it is _too sharp_.
_Jul._ You, minion, are too saucy.
_Luc._ Nay, now you are _too flat_,
And _mar the concord_ with _too harsh a descant_:
There wanteth but a _mean_ to fill your song.
_Jul._ The _mean_ is _drown'd_ with your _unruly base_.
_Luc._ Indeed, I bid the _base_ for Proteus.
Perhaps it is sufficient to remark that many of the italicized words
above are still in ordinary use by musicians--_e.g._, to 'give the
note' in order to 'set' the pitch for singing; to 'keep in tune,' to
'sing out'; or one voice is 'drowned' by another, as the 'mean' (alto)
by the 'bass.' Once more we have quibbles on musical terms--Lucetta
says the 'tune,' _i.e._, Julia's testiness about Proteus' letter, is
'too sharp,' and that her chiding of herself is 'too flat,' meaning,
that neither is in 'concord' with the spirit of the love-letter.
Lucetta recommends the middle course, or 'mean' (alto voice, midway
between treble and bass), 'to _fill_ the song,' _i.e._, to perfect the
harmony. Finally, there is a punning reference (somewhat prophetic) by
Lucetta, to the 'base' conduct of Proteus, in forsaking Julia for
Silvia. Another play upon words should not be missed, viz., in ll. 78
and 79, where 'set' does double duty.
_Rom._ III, v, 25. Romeo and Juliet's parting at daybreak. The lark's
song suggests musical metaphors in Juliet's speech.
_Romeo._ How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.
_Jul._ It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the _lark_ that sings so _out of tune_,
Straining _harsh discords_, and unpleasing _sharps_.
Some say, the lark makes _sweet division_;
_This_ doth not so, for she _divideth us_.
Juliet evidently agrees with Portia that 'nothing is good without
respect.' The lark heralds the dawn, so Romeo must leave her, _ergo_,
the lark sings 'out of tune,' his strains are full of 'discords' and
'sharps.' The last two lines contain an interesting allusion in the
word 'division,' besides the pun on 'she _divideth us_.'
'Division' means roughly, a brilliant passage, of short notes, which
is founded essentially on a much simpler passage of longer notes. A
cant term for the old-fashioned variation (_e.g._, the variations of
the 'Harmonious Blacksmith') was 'Note-splitting,' which at once
explains itself, and the older word 'Division.' A very clear example
of Divisions may be found in 'Rejoice greatly' in the Messiah. The
long 'runs' on the second syllable of '_Rejoice_,' consisting of
several groups of four semiquavers, are simply 'division' or
'note-splittings' of the first note of each group.
The word, however, has a further use, namely, to play 'divisions' on a
viol-da-gamba. This was a favourite accomplishment of gentlemen in the
16th and 17th centuries. Sir Andrew Aguecheek numbered this amongst
his attainments, (see _Twelfth Night_ I, iii, 24); and readers of John
Inglesant will remember that 'Mr Inglesant, being pressed to oblige
the company, played a descant upon a ground bass in the Italian
manner.' Playing a descant on a ground bass meant playing extempore
'divisions' or variations, to the harmony of a 'ground bass' which
(with its proper chords) was repeated again and again by the
harpsichordist, until the viol player had exhausted his capacity to
produce further 'breakings' of the harmony.
In 1665 there was published an instruction book in this art, called
Chelys Minuritionum, _i.e._, the 'Tortoise-shell of Diminutions,'
hence (Chelys meaning a lyre, made of a tortoise-shell) 'The Division
Viol.' The book is by Christopher Sympson, a Royalist soldier, who was
a well-known viol-da-gamba player. The work is in three parts, the
third of which is devoted to the method of ordering division on a
ground.